


A Haunting on Downing Street

by DarkUnderworld



Category: Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles - All Media Types
Genre: Fluff, Haunting, Mild Language
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-24
Updated: 2020-10-24
Packaged: 2021-03-08 20:21:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,747
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27172357
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DarkUnderworld/pseuds/DarkUnderworld
Summary: Just a little Halloween one-shot. Michelangelo is determined to scare Raphael, even if it means going into a supposedly haunted house to do it. Rated T for mild language and some horror.
Relationships: Michelangelo & Raphael (TMNT)
Comments: 2
Kudos: 5





	A Haunting on Downing Street

**Author's Note:**

> Good evening all! Just a one-shot for Halloween, hope you all enjoy!  
> Thank you to my lovely Beta Marie Allen for beta reading this fic for me!

**Michelangelo** shifted from foot to foot in anticipation, readjusting his backpack, his body vibrating with excitement.

Glancing towards his red-masked brother, who stood beside him, looking for all the world as if he wished he were somewhere, _anywhere,_ else than standing before a dilapidated, abandoned house just after nine in the evening.

“Explain to me again why I’m here?” Raphael growled in irritation.

“Because it’s Halloween!!!”

Raphael gave him a blank look. “Right. I’m out,” he said as he turned to leave.

Quickly grasping his brother’s arm, he hauled his reluctant brother back.

“Come on, Raphie!” he begged, not unwilling to pull out the puppy-dog eyes and plead with his brother until he got his way. “It’s Halloween!!”

“You said that. Why do I care? And don’t give me that spiel about it being the only day of the year we can walk around without the humans freaking out.”

“Well…that’s true,” Michelangelo agreed. “But tonight, instead of going around and trick or treating, we’re going to go through this haunted house.”

“A haunted house?” Raphael asked in irritation. “You mean a bunch of humans dressed up as-“

“No!” Michelangelo interrupted. “Like a REAL haunted house.”

“So, you want to wander around a house that is probably gonna fall apart the moment we step in there to poke around and look for…. What? Ghosts?” he asked incredulously. “Mikey, ghosts aren’t real. There’s no way I’m going-“

“Are you scared?” Michelangelo taunted. “Chicken. Bock, bock, bock…”

“I’ll punch you in the face if you don’t quit clucking,” Raphael snarled.

“Okay, okay,” he said, putting his hands up in surrender.

“Besides, you’re the chicken,” Raphael taunted.

“I’m the one willing to go into the creepy murder house, you’re the one who doesn’t,” he pointed out reasonably.

“Because it’s stupid!” he exclaimed.

“You’re only saying that because you’re scared.”

Raphael narrowed his eyes in fury. “We’ll see who’s the chicken,” he growled as he stomped up the cracked and broken paving stones.

Michelangelo followed his brother glancing up at the structure.

The house had been, at one time, white, judging from what was left of the peeled paint left on the slats beneath the graffiti and gang tags. The old Victorian was currently sandwiched between two five-storey apartment buildings. The windows had been boarded up as had the faded red door, which hung crookedly in the casing.

Why the house hadn’t been torn down by now, Michelangelo had no idea, but he hadn’t been lying when he had told Raphael that the house had a very dark, disturbing past.

Not that he expected to run into any ghosts or supernatural phenomenon, but he was determined to scare his skeptical, red-masked brother out of his shell.

Raphael slowed his pace as he reached the porch, stepping on the first tread of the stairs. Looking over his shoulder at Michelangelo, Raphael, a frown of his face, grumbled, “We’re probably gonna get jumped by a vagrant as soon as we go in there.”

“Oooo look at you using big words,” Michelangelo teased.

“Shut up,” Raphael snapped walking up the last stair, his foot hitting the boards of the porch, the wood sagging beneath his boot giving an ominous creek that echoed around them. Raphael didn’t pause, striding to the door before coming to a stop. “What do you want me to do, kick in the door?” he asked, eying the boards that slanted across the doorway.

“A gentle push would probably do it,” Michelangelo suggested.

Raphael reached through a gap in the boards and pushed, the door swinging inwards, the drunken angle causing the lower edge of the door to dig into the floor beyond the threshold.

Raphael was not able to push the door any further. Michelangelo had thought the door would move easily and that they could slip in through the large gap in the boards at the bottom of the doorway, but it looked like it wasn’t going to be so easy.

Studying the boards, Raphael easily yanked them away from the doorframe, discarding them to the side before shoving his shoulder against the wooden surface, giving it a hard push.

The door gave way suddenly and Raphael stumbled inside the darkened house.

“And I thought the sewers smelled bad,” Raphael grumbled, scrunching his beak in disgust as Michelangelo turned the flashlight on his phone on.

Michelangelo found himself placing his arm against his nose as the smell of mouldering cloth, rotten wood, stale air, and a scent he couldn’t determine, but suspected it was something dead; possibly a rat… Perhaps several rats.

The light from Michelangelo’s screen illuminated Raphael’s irritated face. “First one to bolt is buying pizza,” Raphael challenged as he motioned for Michelangelo to stop hanging back. “And get your ass in here, you’re the one with the light.”

Michelangelo nodded. “Deal,” he said, smiling at his easy victory and shuffling closer to his brother. “Where’s your phone?” he asked curiously as they moved further into the house.

“Smashed during a fight, remember?” he asked darkly.

“Oh, right,” he answered bashfully as it had been his foot that had crashed down upon the phone that had been knocked from Raphael’s hand when he had been trying to call Casey for backup during a particularly nasty fight with the Foot.

“I thought Donny was going to make you a new one?” he questioned.

“Yeah, well… You know what Donny’s like. Can’t help but get too distracted by other stuff when he was supposed to be doin’ somethin’ for me,” he grumbled and gave a shrug. “Let’s get this over with,” he said pushing Michelangelo further into the foyer.

Michelangelo had happened upon the house when he was searching haunted buildings of New York for his little Halloween prank.

Coming upon the abandoned house, he was pleased to find that it had been the site of a gruesome murder and although subsequent owners had tried to occupy the dwelling, they had found it to be inhospitable to all occupants.

Scanning the entryway, Michelangelo found himself mildly surprised at the state of the interior.

It was shabby, chunks of the plaster ceiling having cracked and fallen to the floor exposing the lathes, the hardwood floor dusty and sunken slightly, the floral wallpaper on the walls torn, peeling, and decaying, but it was eerily intact.

The furniture was still present, a dark overcoat still hanging from the coatrack by the door gave the impression that the owners had just packed whatever they could carry and walked away, leaving everything behind.

Considering this was New York and the graffiti on the exterior of the building indicated that people had made it to the porch, it was odd that the interior was free from any signs of looting or destruction besides general decay.

The whisper of wind through a broken window nearly had Michelangelo turning tail and running.

He loved Halloween, loved the scares, the movies, the candy, the costumes, everything about it - it was his favourite holiday- but even he had a moment of trepidation where he wondered if this was such a good idea.

There was nothing he liked more than pranking Raphael, and this was going to be epic, but he wondered if it was going to be worth freaking himself out in the process.

Michelangelo didn’t consider himself a believer per se, he’d never had a supernatural or ghostly encounter, but he had heard too many ghost stories to be able to completely dismiss the possibility that there were some people that decided to stick around after they died.

Truthfully, he wasn’t expecting to have a real ghostly encounter tonight, but he had to admit, if even the vagrants and druggies had steered clear of the house, it made him seriously rethink his plan.

Raphael gave his shoulder a bump with his own, dragging him from his thoughts. “You wanna explore down here or go upstairs?”

“Upstairs,” Michelangelo replied.

Giving a grunt of acknowledgement, Raphael turned towards the ornate wooden staircase strewn with cobwebs.

Raphael gingerly stepped on the first tread; the crimson carpet runner of the wooden steps long faded to an anemic rose. His brother tested his weight and apparently found it to be safe as he slowly made his way to the second floor.

Following, Michelangelo reached the upper floor where he shone his phone left and right.

“We’re going to find the bedrooms,” he told his red-masked brother. “That’s where the murders happened.”

“Great,” Raphael mumbled, his voice dripping with sarcasm, “you lead,” he said motioning with his hand to pick a direction. “And if you step wrong and end up back on the main floor, don’t expect me to carry your broken-ass shell back home,” he warned.

Michelangelo gave a snort and shook his head slowly. “Same goes for you.”

“If my ass ends up on the main floor and I break somethin’, you’re getting’ me back to the lair and waitin’ on me hand and foot ‘till I’m better because I wouldn’t be in this creepy, run-down house if it weren’t for you,” Raphael shot back.

Michelangelo didn’t reply, turning left and using his phone to light the darkened hallway, secretly hoping that this stupid prank didn’t end up with one or both of them ending up hurt because of some freak accident caused by the structural failure of the house.

Stopping at the end of the corridor, he encountered two rooms, one on each side of the hall and a bathroom straight ahead.

A cursory look at the bathroom revealed a clawfoot tub filled with debris, broken black and white tiles on the floor, faded blue walls, a pedestal sink, and a toilet.

Inspecting the first room from the doorway, plasterwork had fallen to the floor, scattering bits of white plaster across aged hardwood strewn with ragged, torn carpets, sunken beds, stained yellow walls, and dusty dressers.

The second room looked to be a nursery of some sort with green floral wallpaper, bookshelves filled with glassy-eyed dolls, a broken Jack-in-the-box, tin soldiers, a wooden rocking horse with what had probably been a yarn mane and tail now reduced to stubs, and a crib, broken and laying on its side.

“Now that’s creepy,” Raphael murmured, the light from Michelangelo’s phone illuminating the rows of porcelain dolls, weighed down with dust, cobwebs, and grime, the fabric dresses mouldering, glass eyes, set at disturbing angles, staring at them with dark intent.

Michelangelo gave a shudder and backed away from the doorway. That room was too much even for him, and he was willingly walking through a supposed haunted house.

Turning and heading back the way they had come, they walked past the stairs and towards another room, one which Michelangelo suspected was the master bedroom.

The floor creaked beneath their feet as they entered the bedroom. Dark burgundy wallpaper with another floral print lined the walls, large threadbare rugs with intricate designs covered the floors and a dark wood four-pollster bed sat at the far end of the room, the dark green bedspread littered with plaster chunks from the ceiling. A vanity table and mirror stood on one wall, and a large dresser on another.

A doorway led to a closet filled with moth-worn suits and lady’s gowns and the other revealed a water closet with sink and toilet.

“Well, that was fun, let’s go,” Raphael said, turning to leave.

“Hey!” he protested, grabbing Raphael’s coat sleeve. “We aren’t leaving just yet,” he said as he let go of his brother’s coat and shoved his phone into Raphael’s hand.

Pulling the backpack off his carapace, he knelt down and opened the bag.

“What are you doing?” Raphael hissed in irritation. “If you tell me we’re doin’ a séance or some Ouija board-”

“Nope,” he interrupted his brother. “I’m going to tell you a ghost story.”

“Not part of the deal,” Raphael growled, turning on his heel and heading for the door.

“Awh, come on, Raph!” he protested. “Please!” he begged.

“No way in-“

“I brought beer,” he bribed his brother who stopped in his tracks and glanced at him over his shoulder. His golden gaze narrowing suspiciously.

“Where’d you get it?” he asked curiously, turning to face him but not coming back into the room.

“Casey’s fridge,” he said pulling out a bottle, Raphael shining the light through the amber glass.

“Master Splinter would have your head if he knew you snuck that from Casey’s fridge,” Raphael pointed out taking a step back into the room.

“Master Splinter isn’t here, it’s one beer, it isn’t like you aren’t legal, and I asked Casey’s permission,” he said ticking off each point on a finger.

Raphael seemed to weigh the offer in his mind, gave a shrug and walked back to Michelangelo plopping himself down on the threadbare carpet. “One story and we’re outta here,” he bargained, yanking the beer from Michelangelo’s grip, and shoving the phone back at Michelangelo. Twisting open the top, Raphael took a long gulp of the still-chilled liquid.

Giving an appreciative sound, Raphael motioned with the bottle for Michelangelo to proceed.

Michelangelo grinned broadly before sitting cross-legged on the floor, placing his phone on the rug so the light illuminated his face, casting it in deep shadow. Clearing his throat, giving his best serious expression, he lowered his voice and began in a whispered tone. “It all started on a cool morning in June of 1912.” The wind from outside rattling the windowpane. “The house was inhabited by a man, his wife, and their four children: three boys and one girl. On this day, a neighbour noticed that the usually bustling house was oddly silent, and after the husband missed several appointments, the neighbour grew concerned and placed a call to the owner’s brother. The brother arrived, knocking on the door, and calling out to the occupants. Finding the door locked and not receiving an answer, he used a key to let himself into the house and found it to be eerily silent,” Michelangelo paused his tale for effect as Raphael took another swig of his beer, remaining oddly silent. Somewhat pleased and surprised that his brother hadn’t thrown any snarky comments at him, he hastily continued. “Slowly, the brother made his way through the main floor, not finding anyone in the parlour and upon entering the kitchen, noted that no food had been prepared for that day.

“Making his way upstairs, he called out to his brother and his sister-in-law, but received no answer. Throwing open the door to the master bedroom, the brother was horrified to discover both his brother and sister-in-law murdered. Horrified and fearing the worst, he ran from the room and throwing open one bedroom door after the other, discovered the bodies of his three nephews and niece, as well as two other girls, a bloody axe hastily wiped down found on the floor of the second bedroom,” he paused, this time to glance around the room, acknowledging that people had died in this house.

It had seemed like a good tale to tell to tell at the time, the grisly and horrible murders of an entire family and two family friends, but sitting on the floor of the room where two of horrifying killings had taken place, made the people more real, more substantial than they had been previously.

Shifting slightly, pushing away his somber reflection, he finished the story. “They never found who killed the family and the two visiting girls or figured out why they were all killed in their beds while they were sleeping, but the subsequent owners of the house complained of the sound of something metal being dragged along the floorboards, children giggling, a woman crying, and objects moving.” He lowered his voice. “The hauntings became so bad that none of the occupants could get any peace, and so, they left, leaving the ghosts to their house.”

Raphael finished off his beer and gave it a twist, his golden gaze shifting around the room, not fearfully, like Michelangelo had hoped, but with mild curiosity, as if attempting to figure out if the story he had told was true or not.

“Cute,” Raphael finally said. “We-“

Whatever his brother had been about to say had been quickly silenced by the soft creek of floorboards.

Raphael slowly stood, switching his grip on the bottle to the neck to use as a weapon, a finger lifted in front of his lips in a silencing gesture.

Michelangelo was surprised his brother hadn’t gone for his weapons, but didn’t question it, instead grabbing his phone and backpack from the floor and hastily getting to his feet.

Twisting towards the door, his brother’s long, dark jacket flaring out dramatically, Michelangelo gave a slight smirk of anticipation.

Exiting the room, he nearly ran into his brother’s carapace.

Giving a yelp of irritation he looked over his brother’s shoulder, wondering what it was that had caused Raphael to stop just outside the door.

Sitting in the middle of the hallway was the broken Jack-in-the-box. He hadn’t paid much attention to the toy when he had spotted it in the bedroom, but now, illuminated by the light from the phone, he studied the wooden box, a faded illustration of a young girl and a lamb, the open top exposing the grinning, painted features of the clown-like figure hanging drunkenly to the side, whisps of blue hair peeking out from a faded red, threadbare top hat.

The light from Michelangelo’s phone cast a shadow behind the toy that looked like a hand pointing towards the bedroom to the left.

Dropping his grin just before Raphael looked at him over his shoulder, Michelangelo twisted his features into a semblance of fearful confusion.

Every year at Halloween he tried to get Raphael to share in the Halloween spirit, and every year he had failed. His brother wasn’t interested in watching horror movies, trick or treating, being pranked, or listening to ghost stories. The only time he had gotten his brother to join in the fun was when one year when he had suggested scaring teenagers who were skulking around the cemetery at night.

According to Raphael, ghosts weren’t real, Halloween was stupid, and nothing about it was scary.

But this year he had been determined to scare his brother out of his shell and get him believing in the supernatural.

Enlisting Leonardo and Donatello, he had convinced his two other brothers to help him. Donatello and Leonardo weren’t above taking Raphael down a peg and had agreed. Laying out his plan, he told them that he would bring Raphael to the house and tell him a ghost story. This would make him more suggestive to any weird happenings as well as distracting Raphael so that Donatello and Leonardo could stealthily sneak inside and cause a few ‘ghostly disturbances.’

“Very funny, Mikey,” Raphael growled, stalking up to the toy and picking it up from the floor.

“Me?” he asked with wounded innocence. “I was with you the whole time!” he protested.

“And you were the last one to leave that room and the last one to come into this one. You probably just grabbed this thing on your way out and put it here before comin’ into the master bedroom,” he pointed out as he shoved the beer bottle into Michelangelo’s hands and stalked down the hallway, turning into the bedroom where the shadow had pointed as well as where the toy had come from.

Michelangelo had to admit, Donatello and Leonardo were good. He was curious to see what else his brothers had in store for them. It was going to be tough trying to keep a straight face and not give away the scheme.

Pulling his backpack from his back, he shoved the empty beer bottle inside, closed the bag and slung it back across his carapace.

Following his older brother, he stopped just inside the door, a shiver rolling down his spine at the sight of three of the dolls that had previously been sitting on the shelf in all their creepy, shabby splendor, arranged in a semi-circle on the floor.

Raphael gently lowered the Jack-in-the-box to the ground and took a step back.

Michelangelo went sprawling forward as he was suddenly hit from behind. He slammed into Raphael’s carapace sending them both crashing to the floor.

Coughing as he inhaled a plume of thick dust, Michelangelo waved away the white haze revealing the dull, unnaturally positioned eyes of a brunette doll in a dark blue dress covered in a layer of dirt staring at him judgingly.

Raphael had been knocked to the side, barely missing crushing the Jack-in-the-box beneath him. Furious golden eyes glared at him. “What the f-”

The door to the room slammed shut drowning out his brother’s hissed curse. “Someone pushed me!” Michelangelo exclaimed as he scrambled away from the dolls.

Raphael got to his feet, striding to the door, and trying to open it. Struggling against the door, he was able to pull it open only to have it yanked shut again.

“You gonna help?” Raphael snarled as Michelangelo stood and walked to where his brother appeared to be having a tug of war with a supposedly invisible force.

“How am I supposed to-”

The door let go, causing Raphael to fly backwards, losing his grip on the door and slamming into Michelangelo, who crashed to the floor again getting another lungful of dust and mold from the decaying rug.

“Gross,” he complained as he threw an annoyed glance at his brother who was already in the hallway looking across and down the hall.

Standing, he got to his feet and brushed himself off. “Funny,” he grumbled under his breath. He was still impressed, but Donatello and Leonardo were supposed to be messing with Raphael, not him.

“Anything?” he asked, exiting the room and glancing down the hall, holding his phone up and illuminating a row of tin soldiers.

The door across the hall that led to the bedroom slammed shut and even Michelangelo felt himself staring at the door and soldiers with nervous apprehension as he tried to remember if the soldiers had been in the room he was in just a moment ago.

Shaking his head, he knew they couldn’t have been.

Striding across the hall, Raphael opened the bedroom door and threw it wide, a low growl resonating in his chest.

“Raph, maybe-” a high-pitched giggle sounded from over Michelangelo’s shoulder.

Goosebumps formed on his neck and the back of his arms.

Not being able to help himself, he rushed towards his brother, frightened despite knowing that nothing was real.

Heart beating rapidly in his chest, he shone his phone at Raphael’s angry face.

“Someone’s totally messin’ with us,” Raphael snarled lowly.

“Yeah, the ghosts,” Michelangelo shot back as he edged slowly down the hall, removing the light from his brother’s face back down the hall.

The soldiers now stood in three even rows of two soldiers each.

“Raph,” he said, grabbing the sleeve of his brother’s jacket.

Raphael’s gaze travelled down the hallway settling on the soldiers. “Very funny, Mikey.”

“It wasn’t me!” he protested, wondering what it would take to actually scare his brother as opposed to just getting him angry.

A giant spider falling on his red-masked brother’s head would do it, but it wasn’t the same.

Movement from the master bedroom caught their attention and Raphael ran down the hall, past the tin soldiers.

Michelangelo sighed. Leonardo and Donatello were going to get caught if they weren’t more careful.

The creak of the bed from the bedroom across the hall caused him to dart past the tin soldiers to stand just outside the master bedroom, darkly planning retribution on Donatello and Leonardo.

He had imagined the whole night going much differently. He hadn’t counted on Raphael’s persistent belief that someone was messing with them (okay there was, but still…) and that Michelangelo was responsible for the strange noises and moving objects (he wasn’t… Not completely anyway…) 

“Nothin’!” Raphael ground out through clenched teeth as he stomped out of the water closet, his gaze searching the darkened room for the person he believed to be responsible for everything that was happening to them.

A puff of cold air and the whisper of, “Get out,” in his ear caused Michelangelo to go rigid.

“Raph, did you hear…?”

“Hear what?” he asked angrily.

Michelangelo shook his head and quickly spun around, his hand shaking slightly as the light from his phone fell on the soldiers, now facing him and aligned in a ‘V’.

His phone vibrated silently in his hand, the text blinking into existence, the words, ‘Sorry, we got held up at April’s’, burning itself into his brain.

Blood rushing through his ears, heart pounding a frantic rhythm in his chest, he took three large steps into the master bedroom, yanking his brother out and into the hallway. “We need to go,” he whispered in a strangled voice.

Raphael pulled his arm from Michelangelo’s grasp. “Mikey, I almost caught ‘em,” he said cracking his knuckles and grinning vindictively, as if he was imagining the beating he was going to give to the prankster when he caught him.

The door of the bathroom was thrown shut, the sound reverberating down Michelangelo’s spine.

Slowly, the door opened again with a drawn-out creak akin to nails upon a chalkboard, shredding Michelangelo’s frayed nerves and sending him into a terrified panic.

Dashing down the hall, he leapt over the tin soldiers sliding on the hardwood as he hit the other side. Heading for the stairs, his phone flashlight suddenly went out. Skidding to a halt he reached out, grasping newel post, his heavy, shaking breath the only sound he was able to hear.

“Raphie?” he asked in a small voice.

“Right behind you,” his brother’s voice floated from over his left shoulder causing Michelangelo to let out a high-pitched scream of terror.

“Geez, Mikey,” Raphael complained. “You forget to charge your phone before we left or what?” Raphael asked in an irritated voice

Michelangelo ignored his brother’s words too focused on putting one foot in front of the other, grasping the banister for dear life and blindly stepping down, hoping he didn’t trip and end up with a broken neck at the bottom of the stairs.

The sound of heavy metal slowly being dragged across wood sounded from behind them and to the left, and it was getting closer.

Stumbling down three steps, he regained his grip on the bannister, the sudden silence oppressive and filled with anticipatory portent.

A sickening thwack and a thud filled the silence and Michelangelo wasn’t even sure how he made it down the last few steps and hadn’t accidentally killed himself.

Reaching the main floor, the faint yellow light from the streetlights outside sent thin shafts of dim light streaming through the boards that covered the grime encrusted windows.

The front door was still open a crack and Michelangelo bolted for it. Reaching out, he grasped the edge of the door and pulled, dragging it open as far as it could go.

Stumbling out and onto the porch, he watched as Raphael sauntered out, a smug grin on his face. “You owe me pizza,” he said as Michelangelo shook his head, propelling himself forward and off the porch, not stopping until he made it to the sidewalk.

Trying to calm his racing heart and slow his heaving breaths, he didn’t reply as he stared up at the house. His brother reached his side, revealing the porch, the Jack-in-the box sitting on the porch swaying back and forth on its spring.

Stumbling back in horror, he nearly tripped over his own feet as he ran, not stopping until they reached the lair, Raphael easily keeping pace with him.

Breathing a sigh of relief when they finally entered the living room, he found the lair to be oppressively silent. A quick glance in the garage and the missing van indicated that Leonardo and Donatello hadn’t made it back from April’s yet and Master Splinter wasn’t supposed to be back for another week from his trip to visit the Ancient One.

“You okay?” Raphael asked curiously.

Michelangelo opened his mouth to say something but felt himself completely deflate.

“Not really,” he admitted as he took in his bother’s mocking grin, his expression completely unmarred by any of the terror he had felt after everything they had just witnessed.

Completely defeated, he turned and shuffled from the living room, walking up to the second level and into his room; adrenalin still sparking across his skin and fear still swimming in his gut.

He wished he had been able to dismiss everything that had happened as easily as Raphael had, but he couldn’t, because he knew the truth. They’d had a ghostly encounter and he wished he hadn’t been so flippant and dismissive of ghosts because even though he knew he was safe in the lair, he still felt uneasy; the lair too silent, his ears picking up tiny noises that caused him to jump and see shapes in the shadows he knew weren’t there.

* * *

**Raphael** watched as Michelangelo slowly made his way from the living room, grinning in triumph at his brother’s fearful retreat.

Having overheard Michelangelo’s scheme involving his other two brothers, Raphael decided to turn the tables on his baby brother.

Once Michelangelo had left, Raphael had sauntered into Donatello’s lab, both of his brother’s looking slightly disconcerted and guilty.

Smoothly informing his brothers that he had overheard the entire plan, he had instead convinced them to scare Michelangelo.

Raphael had pointed out that every year at Halloween, Michelangelo was always trying to scare them and pull stupid pranks and this year it was time for them to get their revenge.

Agreeing to send Michelangelo a text telling him that they were stuck at April’s at an appropriate time, preferably after Michelangelo was getting a little spooked by the ‘ghostly activity’, to really freak him out, Raphael had to admit his brothers had delivered the thrills and chills that had caused Michelangelo to bolt as fast as he could from the house. 

He had squashed the small bloom of guilt that rose within him as he had watched his baby brother’s face pale, realization sinking in that it wasn’t their brothers moving the toys and slamming doors.

It served Michelangelo right for trying to prank him again.

Making his way to Donatello’s lab, he waited, amusing himself by examining a few of Donatello’s inventions, finding his broken phone and grumbling under his breath in annoyance at still not having a new phone.

Not too long after he settled himself down on the stool at the workbench, he heard the garage door opening and the rumble of the van.

Sliding from the stool, he decided to meet his brothers in the garage and congratulate them.

He had to admit, that if it wasn’t for the fact that he knew it was Leonardo and Donatello, he would have bolted the moment they found the Jack-in-the-box sitting in the middle of the hallway.

Turning off the engine, both his brothers exited from the van, their clothing dusty, dirty and covered in cobwebs.

He chuckled lightly and approached them.

“Wow, you guys really got dirty,” he observed.

His brothers looked exhausted and not in the best of moods, which he thought was strange considering how elated he felt after scaring Michelangelo so thoroughly.

Donatello gave a tired sigh. “April’s boiler took way longer to fix then I thought it would.”

“Well, you guys made it in time to scare the shell off Mikey. Don’t know how you guys pulled some of it off, but I hope you guys got to see his face. He ran all the way back here and he’s hidin’ out in his room right now.”

Leonardo and Donatello shared a look. “We just got back from April’s,” Donatello informed him.

Raphael blinked in confusion. “Come again?” he asked.

“I lost track of time,” Leonardo explained, “but I texted you and Mikey telling you guys that we got held up at April’s.”

“I don’t have a phone,” he answered dully.

Leonardo gave a slow blink of remembrance whereas Donatello jolted suddenly with guilt.

“Tomorrow,” Donatello promised as his brothers began walking towards the kitchen.

“Hold up,” Raphael’s raised voice caused both of his brothers to stop and look at him curiously. “You guys didn’t make it to the house? Like…at all?” he clarified.

“Sorry, Raph,” Leonardo answered. “We know you wanted to get Mikey back, but anything that happened, it wasn’t us.”

Raphael could feel the blood drain from his face.

“It sounds like just the house was enough to scare Mikey,” Donatello observed. “What happened?” he questioned curiously.

“Oh, you know, the usual,” he lied with a shrug. “Dark creepy house, rattlin’ windows, creaky floorboards, nothin’ big.”

Apparently disappointed in his answer, his brothers complained of exhaustion and the need of a shower.

Belated fear slithered down his spine. Roughly pushing away the feeling, he dismissed everything that had happened, made excuses, and attempted to wipe it from his mind.

Making his way through the lair and to his room, he closed the door, still able to hear the movements of Leonardo and Donatello as they showered and made their own way to bed.

Lying on his bed, listening to the silence, he found he couldn’t supress the fear that continued to flow through him as he replayed each instance of their otherworldly encounter, and with each remembrance, his anxiety grew.

Tiny sounds were amplified, shadows were menacing, and he hated himself for the adrenalin that began to spike through his veins.

Grinding his teeth together and hating himself, he grabbed his pillow and blanket and stalked to his door, swinging it open.

Michelangelo stood in front of him, hand raised to knock on his door, a pillow and blanket braced under his arm.

Michelangelo’s eyes strayed to the pillow and blanket grasped in Raphael’s hand and opened his mouth.

“Not one word,” he warned, grabbing the front of Michelangelo’s flannel pajamas and yanking his brother into his room, closing the door behind him.

**The End**

**A/N The crime told in this fic is altered somewhat from a real event that happened in Villisca, Iowa. The house is called the Villisca Ax Murder House, and yes, it is said to be haunted. Downing street exists, but the house detailed in this fic does not and is completely made up.**


End file.
